Once again, I much prefer the German. Indeed, it is quite tempting to knock up a new, more Anglo-centric review. For what it's worth, here's what I came up with the first time round.

Set in a universe where God is dead and morality has no meaning, where everything is possible and thinkable, brother and sister Mani and Dani are burning themselves out with nihilism and existential ennui.

Ewald Palmetshofer’s “hamlet is dead. no gravity” is an object lesson in the difficulties of translating text-based theatre across international borders. The performance was to have been simultaneously translated into English, however, this proved near-impossible, sonon-German speakers watched the performance while following a printed English translation. Moreover, Palmetshofer’s original text experiments with language in a way that makes translation even harder – where in German the verbs all come at the end of the sentence, he often removes them. It’s a stylistic choice that is impossible to translatefully. So, not ideal conditions for experiencing a play.

In spite of these difficulties, “Hamlet is Dead. No Gravity” is enormously enjoyable. Played on a large white stage under bright lights, the performers essentially play the parts of the characters who in turn are trying to negotiate a way to perform their story with one another. As if the characters of the narrative have been trapped in the space and been forced to re-enact this episode from their lives. The tale in question seems to begin at the funeral of Mani and Dani’s grandmother, who died after falling down stairs in her home. Over the course of the piece, it becomes clear that this is because Dani tied a piece of string across the top of the stairs deliberately. It also emerges that the brother and sister are engaged in an incestuous relationship. At the funeral as well as their parents, Kurt and Caro, they also meet their old friends Oli and Bine. Dani thinks Bine is pregnant and this seems to enrage her. At least, I think that’s what happened.

As well as playing scenes ‘inside’ the story, the characters discuss the scenes as they are happening. They also talk to the audience, commenting on the action or offering longer philosophical musings on life as they see it. These monologues, reminiscent of Michel Houellebecq or Chuck Palahniuk, are delivered in a remarkably engaging, laid-backmanner with a sort of friendliness that belies their contents. Consider: “...in front of the TV, the computer, and your cock in your hand and the whole world on your screen and your cock in your hand and the world perishing and you’re wanking... And suddenly... you realise that what you’re doing is hoping... This is not wanking, no, this is hope, this is religion... alone at home with yourself and the world and a cool head and a hard cock and everything will be ok.”

None of the above really communicates the experience of watching the piece, however. Apart from the mild confusion engendered by having to follow the text on paper, the style of the performance increases the sense of fragmentation. Occasionally the performers will break off from a scene to dance to eighties synth-pop hits – “Take On Me” and “Enola Gay” feature heavily.

Elsewhere, a pumpkin is disembowelled, smashed and stamped on. At one point the cast take a bucket of stage-blood and throw it to each other, covering themselves in blood and ending up looking like extras from a splatter flick, while another scene between two characters sees both actors inhaling helium from balloons before speaking. There appears to be no particular significance or rationale behind any of these interventions, but together with the performers swapping costumes and wigs and the direct audience address, they combine to create a real sense of liveness. The accumulating mess on the stage neatly echoes the gradual unravelling of the characters, as well as being visually exciting and enormous fun to watch.

It is hard to assess the overall impact of the piece, as the language barrier and continual switching of attention between script and stage constitutes a significant distancing device. That said, the amount of post-modernity deployed creates an aesthetic that discourages ‘identifying with the characters’. Ironic distance seems to be the order of the day, with the characters themselves also self-ironising and playing versions of themselves. But when Dani appears to break down at the end, covered in blood, lying on the floor and screaming “have no gravity, I think / a planet without gravity / and all the others around me / … / the fat ones with gravity / … / and they attract everything / and me without gravity and no moon and I want / something to plummet into me” it is somehow incredibly moving. Similarly, the blankness of the monologues translates into a heartbreaking, lonely bleakness. The final image – describing a heaven without God where He has been replaced by a machine – is also powerfully evocative.